Together
by redbird-flying-away
Summary: My second BlaiseLuna, though their names are never mentioned. He's watching her on the swings, and then decides to join her.


He's watching her. They're at a park in London, he's sitting on a bench under a leafy tree, she's sitting on the swings. She seems to be having the time of her life, pumping her legs quickly and hard to make her go higher and higher. She seems like she's going to touch the sky, grasp it in her hands, and fly away. He knows he's probably being obvious, something he despises, as mystery is his game and he's good at it, but at the moment, he doesn't care. She's too interesting. Flaxen long hair trails down her back and bulbous blue eyes take in the world around her, all too seemingly naive, but he knows better. He's been at this park every day this week so far, watching her.

She observes just like him, keeping a mask on at all times. But she draws the negative attention, and he can't figure out why. He does the same thing, but why is he ignored and forgotten? He sums it up to his life, fighting to compete for his mother's attention with many husbands, and always losing. He's a ghost, but doesn't appear so. Tall, with black wavy hair, tan skin, and golden eyes that pierce when looked into. If anyone plays the ghost, it's her. She's small and skinny, fair skinned with the flaxen (_gorgeous_ he thinks) hair, odd clothing style that makes her seem like she's from a different era, and those bulbous blue eyes he loves so much. He hopes he can look her straight in the eyes and see what secrets lurk inside. But she doesn't act like a ghost, if he's learned anything from watching her on the swings; it's that she's totally real, more real than anything he thinks he's ever seen.

A wind blows through the tree above him and he looks up at the sky, noticing that the sun is guarded by black clouds, and the sky is a dark uneasy grey. He turns around and watches the street for a moment. Cars rush by as if they know something will happen. It can be felt in the air, an apprehensive thickness ready to burst. The wind picks up, chilly and carelessly blowing through his hair, making it disheveled. He turns back to the swings just as large rain droplets begin to fall, and notices her sitting on the swings still, eyes closed, and mouth open, waiting for water to fall on her outstretched tongue. He smiles to himself, because it is exactly what he can imagine her doing. Rain falls harder now, soaking him and her to the bone.

The playground is deserted, the merry-go-round spins creakily in the wind, and the slide reminds him of a waterfall as the rain washes down it and spills into a small hole below the slide where many children's feet or behinds have landed as they laughed and got up to clamber up the ladder and slide down again. He sits under the tree for as long as he can bare it, but truthfully, he wants to sit on the swing next to her, pump his legs furiously, and maybe reach the sky and fly away with her. So he does. Well, sit next to her at least. He can't quite make his swing reach as high as hers can, but they are slicing through that wind and rain together, at the same speed, perfectly in synch.

Suddenly, she stops, and sits perfectly still on the swing, though the wind rocks it slowly back and forth. He stops too, and looks at her inquisitively. She smiles back at him, and looks straight into the eyes that pierce when examined, his eyes. And he looks into hers, hoping to find the secrets locked within, but failing, as she has not given him the key yet. Their contact is not broken, or sullied, even when she speaks.

"Do you want to know my name?" He relishes in her voice; it never sounded this good before.

"No," He replies, and takes her small hand in his own large one, admiring how their palms clasp together neatly, like a locket. "I know you from school." She looks at their hands and nods, then smiles at him.

"Good, I was hoping you would. I know yours, too." He nods his head in agreement, thinking how he would never have the courage to do this in front of his classmates, his petty, small-minded, dutiful, brainwashed classmates. They would look upon him, and her, them, with scorn. Scorn he would not allow yet could not stop from occurring. She continues on.

"I've noticed you watching me here every day this week. Do you not have anything better to do than watch me?" He laughs and shakes his head.

"It's not that there's not anything better to do, I could occupy myself other ways, but I chose to watch you. You're an interesting person and," _and I really like you._ No, he couldn't say that, that would be too embarrassing.

"And what?" She asks him, grinning at his flustered words.

"And... I dunno." It's a stupid answer, he knows that, and he hopes she won't be too harsh on him. He's lucky though, she isn't. She knows exactly what he means.

"It's okay, I feel the same way." She flushes a little under his gaze, causing him to flush too. He thinks that she doesn't look so much like a ghost now, rather, a wandering spirit, bringing a shining light and beauty wherever she goes. She looks up at the sky, and he watches her open her mouth again and let the raindrops fall into her mouth, watches as she doesn't care that the water falls into her eyes and drips down the sides of her face, making it appear as if she is crying.

"You know there is tons of pollution in the rain because of London's poor air quality, right?" She looks back down at him, and a spark kicks up in her eyes.

"Yes I know that, but would you hold it against the rain, which is just doing what it is supposed to do?"

"No, I wouldn't."

She smiles at him, and tells him, "Good answer." She once again opens her mouth, and squeezes his hand, inviting him to join her, so he does. He opens his mouth and lets the raindrops fall into his mouth, savoring the coolness on his warm tongue. Who cares if he's ingesting tons of pollution from the cars and factories? It's amazing that something so dirty, tastes so pure, almost as if he had taken a sip from a virgin, isolated, mountain spring. She looks at him, dripping blond hair and soaked clothes, and beams at him.

"Want to go somewhere else?" She asks, and stands up and walks closer to him.

"Sure." He replies, and then grabs her waist and brings her even closer, so that their bodies are mashed up against one another. They stare into each other's eyes, and slowly, he leans down and kisses her on the lips, loving every minute of it. They break apart, and give each other dopey grins. He puts his arm around her shoulders and steers her past the swings and down a hill, and they walk the slick London streets past rushing cars, soaking wet and looking for a place to get dry. Together.


End file.
